


The Root Getter

by apotropaicsymbol



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Nonbinary Character POV, Planetary Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apotropaicsymbol/pseuds/apotropaicsymbol
Summary: Being the account of Constaantina Vong.





	The Root Getter

It was a hot day. I will paint the picture for you, father and mother; the sandy brown of the ground, the bright burning blue of the sky, the dark brown of the wooden cart we all trundled out together. The mean twitch of Chekkdl's overwings, and the boredom of the other servants clustered around her, behind her. Sheep and their sheepdog, save that no dog ever had such a bite. 

Quickly, I took the rope, tied it around my waist. Klizsatk held the other end, and we walked, walked to the opening of the cavern. “Don't let go,” I said.

“Not a chance,” he replied.

The hole at the end of the root-cave is small. It's dark, and there's always a funny smell at the entrance. You go deeper and it gets even darker, and the smell hits you, lights up your nose. Until every breath you breathe tastes of roots, until the inside of your mouth tastes like roots, roots.

It was so dark inside the tunnel I could not see where I put my feet. Like always, it is only by using my tentacles against the walls, the ground that I kept from stumbling. A puppet, hanging from its strings. The dirt was wet and clumpy. Good. That meant a good harvest. I walked in darkness, and followed the glow, and the rope behind me stretched out further and further.

I reached the forest. The cave had gotten bigger; the ceiling was far above my head now, and the roots dangled down. The roots look beautiful, to someone who don't know what they are. Blue and pale like glass, fluted and curved like glass, but so much softer, more alive. And shining. Wet your finger, draw it along the top curve, and the root will sing: a clear pure tone, that you can try to copy with your voice but never get right.

But I was not here to make music. I was here to make money. 

With both hands and two tentacles, I grabbed the roots and started pulling them down. There were many, and they were strongly bound to their plant, so this was not a small task. Even with extra limbs it is hard. I piled them, carefully but moving fast, and as I did so the roots made little clinks and clangs. They were still casting light, a little shadow in reverse. Pulling them down and breaking them had made some dirt fall down from the ceiling, and I was in great fear of a cave-in. I put them in my bag, picked up the rope, and headed back. 

It is always too bright after you come into the sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is appreciated. Thank you for reading.


End file.
